


oh my mistake

by firesides



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fem!Changhyuk, Sexting, or at least. attempted sexting, there's no plot but porn, when i say theres no plot i mean it. im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 21:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesides/pseuds/firesides
Summary: what r u wearingwhat??baby….what are u wearing





	oh my mistake

**Author's Note:**

> sangah/dior is just too good i had to write this
> 
> they either act like horny teenagers in love or like they've been married for 20 years take ur pick whats ur favorite
> 
> title from april's oh! my mistake, it has nothing to do with this fic i just love this song, it's literally the best gg release this year

**Dior  
** what r u wearing

 **Sangah  
** what??

 **Dior  
** baby….what are u wearing

 **Sangah**  
you literally saw me leave this morning  
what are you doing?

 **Dior  
** sangah.

 **Sangah  
** dior.

 **Dior**  
i’m trying to b sexy!!  
i miss you….

 **Sangah**  
oh  
sexting? really??

 **Dior**  
yess really!!!  
i’m so bored without u  
and i miss you..a lot

 **Sangah**  
that’s cute..  
i miss you too  
but  
i’m about to take a test

 **Dior**  
don’t u dare leave me high and dry  
high and wet?

 **Sangah**  
use one of our toys if you want  
i’ll be home in about 2 hours  
love you

 **Dior**  
sangah….  
sangah!!!!

 

 

 

When Sangah comes home later that evening, worn out from her classes and the cold outside, she steps into the living room just as Dior comes out of the bathroom, already dressed in pajamas and her night robe, hair wrapped in a towel, smoothing out the edges of her face mask.

Involuntarily, a smile starts playing on Sangah’s face. “Sexy,” she remarks. It comes out jokingly, but even doing the most mundane of things－for example, her nightly routine－Dior is still the most attractive person to Sangah. She wonders if this is what being head over heels for someone means.

Dior sticks her tongue out at her. “How was your test?” she asks and, very carefully, leaves a kiss on Sangah’s cheek.

Sangah shrugs, rubs at her eyes. “Think I did alright,” she replies. “I’m beat, though. I think I’m gonna take a bath.”

“Left a bath bomb out for you,” Dior says over her shoulder, making her way into the kitchen.

Sangah grins as she remembers their endless supply of bath bombs, courtesy of Dior. “Love you,” she calls, throwing a hand kiss to Dior, disappearing into the bathroom.

 

 

 

Dior joins her in the bathroom a while later, brushing her hair and washing her face, examining herself in the mirror.

“I think the circles around my eyes got darker,” she mumbles and prods at the skin under her eyes. “And I got new wrinkles.”

Sangah’s watching her and lets out a laugh at her words. “You’re 23,” she says. “You don’t have that many wrinkles yet,” she adds on teasingly and Dior throws her a glare.

After putting her hair in a messy ponytail, Dior sits down at the edge of the bathtub and absently takes Sangah’s hand in hers, barely noticing the wetness. They both watch the water, the colorful patterns of the bath bomb, when Sangah breaks the silence. “How is it called?” she asks and Dior immediately starts grinning.

“Sex bomb,” she says and Sangah laughs.

“Should I join you?” Dior asks then, staring thoughtfully down into the water.

Sangah raises her eyebrows. “Thought you already took a bath.”

“Yeah, but I miss you,” Dior shrugs, pouting slightly. “Had to get off alone earlier.”

“Right,” Sangah grins. “But usually like masturbating.”

“With you, it’s hotter.”

“Cute,” Sangah replies and Dior rolls her eyes. “You wanna get in?” Sangah asks.

“I’m kinda tired,” Dior says. “Have we reached that point in our relationship where we’re already too tired for sex?”

“The three-year mark,” Sangah says, reminding them both of their anniversary which was last week. “This is either what brings us closer together or breaks us.”

Dior laughs and Sangah watches her, fascinated by her bright laugh and the crinkles by her eyes, just like on their first date.

“I’m going to bed,” Dior says and leans down to kiss her. “Don’t take too long.”

 

 

 

Sangah wakes up early the next morning, groaning into her pillow when she blinks her eyes open and sees the 8:54 AM on her alarm clock. “It’s a Saturday,” she mumbles to herself.

“Huh?” comes a voice from behind her and the arm around her waist tightens. Sangah turns around, comes face to face with Dior who’s rubbing her eyes, blinking sleepily at her. “Why’re you talkin’ to yourself?” she mumbles and maybe it’s just Sangah being your typical horny lesbian but Dior’s morning voice, right after waking up, has always turned her on.

“It’s nine in the morning,” she says as explanation and moves closer to her, one hand resting on her waist under her top.

Dior wrinkles her nose. “You’ve got morning breath,” she mumbles but, contrary to her words, buries her face in Sangah’s neck, leaving a soft kiss there.

“So do you,” Sangah says and feels Dior smiling into her skin. She leaves one, two, three more kisses on her neck, her lips lingering longer each time, and when Dior’s hand travels up her stomach, to her breast, and pinches her right nipple between her fingers, Sangah lets out a breathy moan, throwing her head back.

“Kiss me,” she manages to mumble out and Dior obliges immediately. The kiss is soft and slow and Dior is still playing with her nipple and then she’s tugging at her piercing and Sangah swears she’s going crazy.

She must’ve cursed out loud, a breathy _fuck_ breaking their kiss, because Dior laughs a little, and then she’s kissing her with more fervour. “You like that, baby, right?” she asks in between kisses, then lowers her head to nip at her neck again. “You like me playing with your piercing?”

Sangah nods mutely. She can’t think straight, she tries to focus on only thing－but it’s too much, with Dior sucking on her neck, still pinching her nipple. She tries to buck her hips up, she knows how wet she already is, she needs to get _some_ friction at least, or she’s going to come untouched and Dior will only tease her about it.

Either Sangah must’ve talked out loud again or Dior can read her mind, because in one swift move Dior is straddling her and tugging at her top. “Take it off,” she orders and when Sangah does, Dior smiles at her, stares at her with something akin to hunger in her eyes. “Do you think you can cum just by me sucking on your nipples?” she asks, almost innocently, her hands travelling up her stomach, cupping her breasts.

Sangah swallows. “You’re killing me,” she manages to get out and Dior laughs, surprised at her reply.

“Baby,” she mumbles, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I know you like it.”

Sangah’s reply gets caught in her throat and she lets out a low moan instead when Dior leans down and captures her right nipple in her mouth. Her hand comes up to play with her left breast, her thumb rubbing over her piercing. Sangah’s eyes slip closed in pleasure－it’s too much for her, the feeling of Dior’s mouth on her breast, her hand tugging on her piercing. She bucks her hips up again and maybe Dior’s noticed and taken pity on her because she slips her thigh between her legs, and it’s not much but it’s enough for Sangah to grind against.

The position’s not good and they’re still dressed from the waist down, so the clothing makes it more difficult, but Sangah doesn’t care. She grips Dior’s waist tightly who’s undeterred; just continues rolling her tongue over her nipple and when Sangah finally, _finally_ comes－back arching, choked off moans and whines－Dior slows down, holding her through her high and waiting until she calms down.

“That was hot,” Dior sits up straight, her hands finding Sangah’s and intertwining their fingers together. “Like, really hot.”

Sangah feels dead tired all of a sudden and she knows she needs to change out of her clothes, but the idea of closing her eyes and going back to sleep sounds more appealing. “You’re evil,” she mumbles and hears Dior letting out a loud laugh, can feel her moving from her lap and lying down beside her.

“Love you too,” Dior says and presses a kiss to Sangah’s cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

 

 

 

“Yeojoo and Dodo are coming over tonight,” Dior says two hours later while they’re eating breakfast. She’s wearing only an oversized shirt, threw it on after their shower, and now she’s sitting with one leg on the chair, resting her cheek against her knee while looking at her phone. “Yeojoo is in the mood for margaritas. Do we still have margarita mix?”

Sangah, in the middle of writing down their grocery list, adds  _margarita mix_. “Why don’t we just go out to a bar?”

Dior snorts. “We’re too broke for that. Add Tequila.”

Sangah writes down  _tequila_. “I’m the broke university student. You’re the one with the job.”

“Wait, does that mean I’m the one earning the money and you’re the one leeching off of me?”

“Caught me.” Sangah grins up at her. “You’re the rich, successful one in this relationship. I’m just your hot trophy wife.”

“Oh, we’re married already?” Dior locks her phone and puts it down on the table. “When did you propose? Where’s my ring?”

“We just talked about how we’re broke and you expect a ring from me?”

“Can’t be married without a ring, baby,” Dior replies. Her phone lights up with a new message. “Do we have salt?”

Sangah writes down  _salt._

 

 

 

Sangah always thought that Dior was a hurricane. A whirlwind of tight dresses and high heels, turtlenecks tucked into skirts, with some designer coat thrown over, bright red lipstick, always matching with her painted nails. That’s how she came into Sangah’s life－appearing from one day to the next, messing up her heart, not leaving.

Now, Sangah knows she’s more than that. She’s Sunday morning breakfasts, with her hair messy and unstyled, wearing old clothes, accidentally spilling coffee due to her sleepiness; she’s Monday evening dates when she picks Sangah up from her last class and they go out for dinner or a movie and Dior’s hand fits perfectly in hers; she’s the way her back arches in pleasure and her fingers grasp the sheets on a Saturday night.

And Sangah was just completely, hopelessly in love with her.

 

 

 

 **Dior**  
what are u wearing?

Sangah blinks down at the text message, remembering the last conversation where Dior sent her this message without any context. Before she can reply, her phone vibrates again.

 **Dior**  
and before u shoot me down again  
pls just indulge me  
i miss you

Sangah bites down a smile at that. She’s in the library, supposed to finish an essay, but it’s late and she’s tired and bored and missing her girlfriend. So, yeah, she’s gonna indulge Dior.

 **Sangah**  
i miss you too  
what are you doing right now?

**Dior**  
missing you duh

Sangah thinks for someone who wanted to try out sexting this badly, Dior sure loved being sappy.

 **Dior**  
you’re in the library right?

 **Sangah**  
yeah..

 **Dior**  
hmm  
so don’t let anyone else see this  
Image Attached 

Sangah’s phone nearly slips out of her hand when the picture finally loads. She knew Dior looked good in black, she just didn’t know _how_ good. The lace of the lingerie adorning her body, the thigh highs, coupled with a simple oversized unbuttoned shirt－Sangah resists the urge to pack up all of her things and rush home, for once glad for being the only one in that library corner.

 **Sangah**  
fuck baby…  
you’re so beautiful

 **Dior**  
wish you were here..  
i wanna ride you  
so bad  
Audio Attached 

**Sangah**  
what is that audio  
i dont have my headphones with me  
why are you sending me audios

 **Dior**  
just listen to it and find out!!

 **Sangah**  
HOW

 **Dior**  
go to the bathroom!! i dont care!!

 **Sangah**  
if that audio is what i think it is

 **Dior**  
well what do you think it is?

 **Sangah**  
i’m coming home

 **Dior**  
can we just for once sext in peace

 

 

 

“Why do you always shoot me down when I try to sext you?”

Sangah rolls her eyes at that question, letting her bag drop to the floor. “I wasn’t shooting you down,” she explains and joins Dior on the couch. “I didn’t have my headphones with me. I wasn’t about to play an audio of my girlfriend touching herself to the university library.”

Dior grins. “Oh, so you know what it was?”

“Took a guess.” Sangah’s eyes wander, realizing Dior’s still wearing her outfit from the photo she sent. “Aren’t you cold?” she asks, tugging a little at her shirt.

Dior stares at her. “I was gonna send you more pictures,” she says. “But if you don’t want them,” she trails off, shrugging, and gets up. “I’ll be in the bedroom, having fun on my own,” she calls over her shoulder, already disappearing down the hall.

Sangah stays on the couch. “Dior?” she tries.

“Maybe I’ll even use my favorite toy.”

Sangah follows her.

 

 

 

“Hate to admit it,” Dior gasps out, her chest heaving. “But you’re a champ at pussy eating.”

“Why do you hate to admit that?” Sangah looks hurt. “I’m your girlfriend. That’s one of the best compliments you can give me.”

Dior huffs out a laugh, tilting her head up to look at Sangah straddling her. “You’re so beautiful,” she says suddenly and Sangah’s cheeks darken.

She was never good at handling real, genuine compliments, especially not with Dior complimenting her. With Dior, it was always random, out of the blue, and that’s how Sangah knew that Dior really meant them.

“You’re so cute, babygirl,” Dior mumbles, her hand coming up to cup Sangah’s cheek. “So pretty. The best at pussy eating,” she adds, starting to smirk.

Sangah laughs, leaning down to kiss her. “Thank you,” she mumbles into the kiss, but yelps in surprise when suddenly Dior turns them over so she’s the one on top. Dior smirks down at her before deepening the kiss, biting down on Sangah’s lower lip.

Dior’s hand slips in between their bodies, her fingers grazing Sangah’s inner thigh, and Sangah spreads her thighs a little more open. Dior smiles down at her. “Good girl,” she mumbles and kisses her, while her hand plays with her wetness and rubs against her folds.

Sangah sighs and closes her eyes when Dior rolls her thumb against her clit. “Please－” she whimpers and Dior kisses her again. “Tell me what you want, baby,” she whispers.

“Want your fingers in me,” Sangah mumbles, her cheeks darkening again. Dior once told her she loved this about Sangah, how shy she got when Dior asked her what she wanted her to do to her.

“Look at me,” Dior commands, softly, and Sangah opens her eyes, sees Dior smiling down at her－and then Dior is slipping one finger in and Sangah’s eyes shut again in pleasure.

“One finger?” Dior asks, her thumb continuing to roll over her clit. “Or more?”

“M-more,” Sangah breathes out. “ _ Hng _ , Dior, please－”

Dior wastes no time and slips another finger in between her folds and Sangah sees stars. “Fuck,” she curses. “Fuck, please,  _ faster _ －”

“Babygirl,” Dior says, her voice soft but stern, and Sangah opens her eyes, breathing heavily. “Enjoy it, baby,” Dior says, kissing her neck. “And I want you to look at me.”

Sangah nods, resisting the urge to close her eyes again when Dior moves her fingers faster. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” Dior asks and Sangah nods again. “You gonna be a good girl for me?”

“Yeah, yes,” Sangah breathes out. “ _ Hng _ －so good, only for you.”

Sangah knows she’s close, can feel her release approaching－

And when she comes, she comes with a broken moan and her back arching and her toes curling, and Dior holds her close and rides it out with her. She feels strangely empty when Dior slips her fingers out, she always does, but then Dior is bringing her hand up to her lips and Sangah knows what to do. She opens her mouth, lets Dior slip her fingers in which were just inside of her, and she sucks on them, all while watching Dior.

“Fuck,” Dior breathes out, smiling at her in adoration, fascination, wonderment. “I love you so much.”

Sangah laughs and immediately curls into Dior’s side when she lies down beside her. “Now I’m beat.”

Dior hums in reply. “It’s not even ten yet,” she says through a yawn.

“God, are we boring,” Sangah says. “Sex and then sleeping before midnight? We really are an old married couple.”

Dior laughs and holds her closer. “Don’t you love it, though?” she asks, her hand running through Sangah’s hair.

Sangah hums. She really does.


End file.
